


Live Fast Die Young

by welshyak



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Death, Depression, Grief, M/M, One-Shot, Post-Canon, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide, car collision, read only if you want to cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 17:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12989379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welshyak/pseuds/welshyak
Summary: Billy was the epitome of live fast die young, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Steve that Billy got drunk and wrapped his camaro around a telephone pole two weeks before graduation.But it did....Please read if you want to cry about the boys.





	Live Fast Die Young

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after reading chapter 34 of Broken Pieces because apparently I wasn't done crying for the night. Leave a comment if you like, I love receiving feedback!

Billy was the epitome of  _ live fast die young _ , so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Steve that Billy got drunk and wrapped his camaro around a telephone pole two weeks before graduation. 

 

But it did. 

 

It sent Steve reeling from the shock of hearing it announced over the speakers in English class; he sat there in his chair, not hearing the rest of the announcements telling them class was canceled until further notice. 

 

He couldn’t believe it. It was bullshit.  _ Bullshit _ . Steve was going to go out into that hallway and hear Billy yelling his name, Steve was going to roll his eyes and turn to give a snarky comeback and go home pleased with himself for getting Billy’s attention. 

 

It didn’t happen; the hallways filled with students, walking to their lockers, most of them silent. Only the sound of scuffling feet could be heard through the corridors. 

 

Steve felt numb, and the truth only started to sink in when he imagined what Max must have been going through. He cried in the shower that night, cried himself to sleep. He couldn’t stop crying, the sobs racking his body like he was possessed. 

 

They were … something. They had become friends a month or two after that night at the Byer’s house, and things had spiralled after that. It had all been so fast, so invigorating. Steve had never felt so alive as when they went to the quarry after sunset and slept together in the back seat of the camaro. 

 

Max had known, and Steve had to give her credit, she was a lot more astute than he’d expected. She was fine with it, said that he made Billy more calm and less angry. 

 

On the Saturday after Billy died, the doorbell rang. Steve was alone at home, which was fine with him, he liked feeling lonely. He deserved it. He opened the door to see Max, her eyes bloodshot and her clothes wrinkled like she had slept in them. 

 

Steve looked beyond Max to spot Susan sitting in her car in the driveway. The woman nodded her head solemnly. He guessed Max must have told her the bare minimum, and he couldn’t say he was bothered by it. Nothing mattered anymore, after all. 

 

Max held out a closed fist. “Here,”

 

Steve held his hand out and Max dropped Billy’s necklace into his hand. 

 

“I know he’d want you to have this. It was his mother’s.” 

 

Steve nodded his head dumbly. 

 

“You doin’ okay?” she asked, and Steve could feel his eyes fill with tears. He bent down and gave Max a quick hug, which she returned, and watched her walk back to the car. 

 

He closed the door and put his back against it. His hand shook, but Steve looked into his palm at the necklace. 

 

A memory bubbled to the surface unbidden. 

 

_ “What do you want to do after you graduate?” Steve asked Billy.  _

 

_ They were lying on the floor of Steve’s bedroom, listening to some tapes that Billy had brought over. Both were high as a kite and relaxed, lying close enough to each other that Steve could hear Billy’s slow and gentle breathing.  _

 

_ Billy contemplated the question. “I want to go back to California. I miss the sun, the heat.” _

 

_ Steve hummed in agreement.  _

 

_ Billy turned on his side to look at Steve under long eyelashes. “Come with me.”  _

 

_ Steve smiled, and then realized Billy was being serious. “Wait, what? Really?” _

 

_ The boy smiled easily, a quality Steve remembered finding endearing. “Yeah, really. Let’s go see the ocean together. You’d love it, the sun, the heat, the waves.” _

 

_ Steve scoffed, “I’ve seen waves.”  _

 

_ “Lake Michigan doesn’t count, dumbass. I’m talking real waves. Ocean waves.” _

 

_ They looked at each other. “Don’t leave me hanging, Harrington.” Billy goaded.  _

 

_ Steve licked his lips, and noticed how Billy’s eyes flickered down to watch the movement.  _

 

_ “I’m in. After graduation, though.” _

 

_ “Of course. Still gotta kick your ass for the rest of the season, don’t I?” Billy replied.  _

 

_ Steve laughed. “Shut up, dickhead.” _

 

_ “Make me.” Billy growled.  _

 

_ Steve was on top of him in an instant, pressing their lips together.  _

 

Steve slid down the door, holding the necklace like a talisman. He gripped it tight, and fought back the sobs threatening to burst out of him, but to no avail. 

 

The funeral was no large affair, closed casket. Apparently, most of the school turned out to say goodbye to Billy Hargrove. He had been an asshole while alive, except to Steve, but death had been kind to his memory.

 

Steve didn’t go, didn’t want to have to look Neil Hargrove in the face. Besides, he had his own way of remembering the boy. 

 

He bought a six pack of beer, drove up to the quarry, and played the mixtape Billy had made him for an impromptu present. He spent all night there, playing and replaying the mixtape, side A, side B. He was drunk off his ass, and slept in the beamer that night. He was stiff, cold, and hungover in the morning. Steve played with the pendant that hung around his neck, remembering the feeling of lying next to Billy, feeling his warmth and smelling his cologne. He remembered the feeling of Billy nuzzling against his neck and sighing contentedly against him. 

That was all gone. It was never going to happen again.

 

He scrambled out of the beamer and threw up beside it, feeling like he was going to die, and lay there in the snow, shivering, for what felt like forever. 

 

He was never going to get it over it. Not Billy Hargrove. 

 

Steve didn’t even go to graduation. He moved to LA, told the party he had to get out of Hawkins, that there were too many memories. Nancy smiled at him sadly when he told her, and Steve got pissed off at that look. He didn’t need her pity, he needed to get over himself. Fuck, was it that hard to understand?

 

Billy was right, Steve liked California, it made him feel closer to Billy. Life in Los Angeles was okay for a while. Steve had gotten some money from his parents, who had barely any idea of what Billy had meant to him. He got a job, got new friends, walked to the beach to watch the sunset, somedays. 

 

Steve got used to feeling empty. Liked it, even. It was better than feeling, even if he did wake up in the middle of the night crying like a bitch because he had a dream about Billy. He could do empty. Feelings were dangerous. 

 

Steve missed him like an arrow driven straight to his core. He knew he was broken, and didn’t want to be fixed. It was a constant ache that he carried with him everywhere. It was easier to put in the back of his mind when he was with friends or at work, but the thought of Billy kept him up at night, haunting him. 

 

One night Steve was watching the sunset, playing with the pendant idly, when he realized he couldn’t remember what Billy looked like. 

 

The thought destroyed him. After all that he had been through, after all the time that Steve had spent thinking about the one thing he had wanted most in the world, he couldn't remember Billy’s face? 

 

Steve tried hard, could remember the tight pants and the long, curly blonde hair. But he couldn’t remember his face, what he had looked like when he smiled, when he was concentrating, when he was teasing Steve while they fucked. 

 

The thought broke him, and Steve decided then and there that something had to be done. 

 

He returned to his apartment, and wrote out a letter. The letter. He hoped everybody would understand, this is what he had to do. He couldn’t live like this anymore. He just couldn’t.

 

_ I can’t remember what he looked like.  _

_ I can’t live like this anymore. _

_ I hope you all understand.  _

_ You have my love. _

_ Steve _

 

He did what he had to do, and fell asleep on the couch, Letterman droning on about the day’s top ten list. His breathing slowed, and then stopped, and he drifted away like a seed from a dandelion on the wind. 

 

Steve awoke slowly, and turned to see bright blue eyes gazing at him a short distance away from across the bed they were sharing. 

 

“Hey  _ pretty boy _ .” 

 

Steve smiled wide, and gazed back. It was perfect. 


End file.
